


Lazy Love

by mintboy (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Haircuts, Humanstuck, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 16:58:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16769203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/mintboy
Summary: Dave and Karkat spend a content afternoon cuddling before they both head out to get their hair cut - and Dave has a little suggestion for his boyfriend's next hairstyle.For my boyfriend.





	Lazy Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KittyMotor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyMotor/gifts).



“Yeah, at the same time … ”

I look up from my spot at our kitchen table as Karkat paces in front of the counter, cell phone pressed up to his ear. In between his responses, he gnaws at one of his lip-piercings. His eyes dart over to me, occasionally, and I shoot him a thankful, lopsided smile – to which he rolls his eyes.

Tapping a beat on the placemat in front of me, I let my eyes follow the embroidered designs on the edges of the fabric. They’re fall themed; a sort of rough, brown fabric framed with little colored leaves. Karkat had ordered them online, insisting that our table looks a hundred times better when the nail-polish stains are covered up. I don’t really mind the stains – it reminds me of the ridiculous amount of time Karkat spends painting my nails, due to the fact I’m constantly biting at and picking off the polish. It’s really sweet of him to keep doing it over and over, and the thought makes my heart skip a little.

“Thank you, see you then,” Karkat finishes up the call, slipping his phone into his front pocket. I prop my head up on my hands, drumming my chin with my half-red nails.

“So?” I say.

“They’ll take us today at three, both at the same fucking time, since you were so insistent on it,” he steps towards me, pushing up my shades onto my head. His hand lingers on my cheek for a second.

“Thanks for calling, babe,” I murmur, reaching out to pull him closer. I hook my hands around his waist, resting my chin on his chest and looking up at him. His expression softens slightly.

“Anytime,” is his reply, as he leans down and kisses my forehead.

“So, we’ve got the _whole_ day,” I close my eyes, nuzzling into his shirt. It’s soft and smells like him.

“Because you called out of work, asswipe,” I can feel Karkat roll his eyes as he speaks, “all for a hair appointment. Plus – we’ve only got two hours. That’s hardly a fucking day.”

“Ah, but, dude, it’s long enough to cuddle,” I stand up, abruptly pulling Karkat into a hug. He grunts and shifts his head, a little, my shades knocking into him as I shove my face into his shoulder.

“Needy bitch,” he grumbles, kissing my hair.

“You love it,” I say, “you love _me_.”

“Shut _up_ , of course I do,” he pulls away a little, and I look at him, raising an eyebrow as he continues, “now, you mentioned cuddling, and standing in our kitchen isn’t exactly ideal for that shit, is it?”

“You’re right,” I point out, and he lets out a little, charming laugh. God, I’m so in love with him.

We make our way into the living room, exchanging stupid quips. Our hands are always on each other, it feels like – since we’ve been able to move in together, I don’t want to spend a second apart from him. I throw myself onto the couch, opening my arms. With an over-exaggerated eyeroll, Karkat joins me, snuggling up against my chest. I thread a hand in his hair, prompting an unintelligible grumble to fall from his lips as he curls closer.

I use my free hand to turn on the TV.

“ – and god, I just hate the wallpaper in here –” some middle-aged, white woman drones to the realtor. The screen cuts to her sitting next to her presumed husband, as she goes on about how wallpaper is _out_ and accent walls are _in_ , and how her job as a centipede optometrist means she needs a classy office. Ah, the joys of HGTV.

“Jesus Christ,” Karkat cranes his neck to look at the screen, and I choke back a breathy laugh.

“I bet their budget is like four million dollars,” I manage, turning up the volume. Karkat groans, shoving his head into my chest. I scratch his scalp, leaning down to press a kiss to his messy hair.

The woman says something about imported granite counter tops and Karkat lets out a string of expletives, turning to yell at the screen about how she’ll import granite, but she’s not willing to tear down the wallpaper.

We watch HGTV for another hour, making commentary on the idiots buying and selling the houses while we cuddle. Once it becomes somewhat unbearable, I flip the channel to a low-budget movie on SyFy, mostly because I know Karkat will have little to no interest in it. I’m right, and to my luck we spend our remaining hour making out as B-level actors scream about failing quantum-fuse-breakers on screen. Kissing him is like ascending to paradise – our lips melt together into a kind of promised infinity that can’t be expressed through words.

An alarm on Karkat’s phone blares loudly at two-twenty.

He pulls away from me, and I move to follow his lips, letting out a sound of annoyance.

“ _Baaaaaaabe_ ,” I pull my hands from his shoulders, sliding one to the collar of his shirt, “do we _have_ to go now?”

“Yes, you insufferable shitweasel,” Karkat’s face scrunches up in clear annoyance, “get your horny ass up off the couch and put your damn shoes on.”

I groan, but stand, pulling down my t-shirt and sauntering over to the door, where an awkward pile of my various pairs of hideous and dirty shoes sit next to Karkat’s incredibly neat single-file line of identical Vans.

I slide on my red converse, opting to shove the laces into the shoes rather than tying them. When Karkat wanders over, throwing a hoodie at me so I won’t ‘freeze off my pathetic Texan ass’, he looks down at my shoes with a look of exasperation.

“You’re going to kill yourself,” he crosses his arms, “tie your shoes.”

I slide my hoodie over my head, pushing my shades back down onto my face, before leaning down and properly tying my shoes. Karkat slips on his Vans, opening our front door.

We lock hands even as we walk to his car. The fact that we so easily slip into holding hands is magical to me; we don’t even seem to think of it.

The ride to the hair salon is only twenty minutes – Karkat leaves ten to ‘check in’, though we usually just spend it sitting in the waiting room. It’s a nice place – we get a discount because he knows the woman who owns it. She’s not usually around, and I’m a little thankful for it; the receptionist just has Karkat’s name on file. She’s a little too bubbly for my taste; I don’t really like to converse with my hairdressers, and she’s always asking what seems like thousands of questions.

I pick at my nails as Karkat checks us in. When he sits beside him, he swats at my hands to make me stop – before opting to just hold one of them, flashing a side-smile at me. He eventually picks up a magazine.

“Hey, Karkles,” I nudge his side, and he looks up from the tabloid, raising his eyebrows.

“What,” he deadpans.

“You should get an undercut,” I announce, grinning at him.

“What? Fuck no,” he hisses, closing the magazine, “I’m just getting it trimmed. Do you suddenly hate how it’s usually done or something?”

“Nah, dude, I love your curly bird’s nest,” the comment makes him roll his eyes, and I let out a breathy laugh before continuing, “I just think it would be hot.”

Karkat’s face flushes. It’s adorable.

“I’ll consider it,” he grumbles, shaking the magazine open again and biting his lip as he glares down at the page with a little too much intent.

We both get called in at the same time, by two different stylists. It’s really convenient to knock out both of our haircuts at once – but that’s not why I insist we have it done. There’s just something so lovely about the sheer domesticity of making appointments – and the idea of the two of us only having to worry about getting our hair cut and buying our groceries is so comforting, compared to what we’ve had to face to get to this point.

It’s also kind of funny to hear Karkat converse with the stylist.

I’m a relatively quiet client; I’ll answer any questions the hairdresser has, but curtly – I’m there to get my hair cut, nothing else. I mostly get lost in my own head, traveling in circles that revolve around love, life, music, et cetera. Karkat, on the other hand, chats away – he has a full-on conversation with the stylist, telling her about how our lives are going, how his job is doing, how his writing is coming on. She complains to him about her shitty boyfriend and her giant dog, Marco, shitting all over her comforter, and he consoles her and motivates her. It’s kind of weird, but also really charming. Karkat is always really charming. Sometimes – no, often – I think it’s a miracle he’s attracted to me.

He’s on the other side of the divider, and I can’t help but be curious about what he decided to do. I hadn’t thought of the idea of him with an undercut until recently, but as soon as I got the idea I couldn’t get it out of my head. I’d decided to bring it up right before he has to decide, so I didn’t have to make an embarrassing argument about how I want to run my fingers across the fuzzy back of his head and into the mess of curls on his scalp.

I just get my neck and sideburns cleaned up, the rest of my hair being relatively tame and of a good length – it was just getting a little mullet-y. After my hair is dry, I wander back into the waiting room, brushing the clippings from the shaver off of my neck.

“You better like this, dickwad,” Karkat’s voice rings behind me, and I turn around, a wide smile spreading across my face.

He’s standing with his arms crossed, eyes on the ground. The mess of curls on the top of his head is mostly tamed, now, and it fades down into the grey-ish shaved portion of his _undercut_. It frames his perfect ears, his gauges more clearly visible and his industrial no longer hiding behind his hair.

“Oh my god, babe, it’s amazing,” I walk towards him, running my hands through it.

“Fucking stop, it’s got product in it!” he exclaims, ducking his head down.

I pull away – he’s right, there’s product all over my hands, now. But it’s so wonderfully soft and fuzzy, and I want to touch it forever.

After we pay for the haircuts and tip the stylists, we head back out to the car, Karkat very audibly complaining about how the sides and back of his head are now frigid in the autumn air. Before he can step into the car, I pull him into a chaste kiss, smiling against his lips.

“Wanna cuddle when we get back?” I ask, thumbing his cheek.

“We just cuddled for two hours,” he reasons, but moves closer, wrapping his arms around my hips, “plus, I want to shower and get this shit out of my hair.”

“You can pick the movie after you shower _and_ I’ll scratch your scalp?” I offer, sliding my hand across the soft fuzz on the back of his head.

Karkat smiles, and it’s like the shimmering colors of a golden and pink sunset dancing across his handsome face.

“Deal.”


End file.
